Never Let Go
by Larki13
Summary: HIATUS. Sauron is plotting to destroy the Heir of Isildur, and he knows if one wishes to strike the hardest, one must aim for the heart. While they plan their escape, Arwen finds her love for Aragorn growing. Will their love help or harm them in the end?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of this. I am making no money from this story. All recognizable events, places, scenarios, concepts, items, and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkein and possibly New Line Cinema.

**A/N: **Inspired by the song "_Into the West_" by Annie Lennox. I realize how short this is, but it is only a prologue. I was half asleep when this idea came into my head, and I couldn't just ignore it, because if I didn't write _something_ down, I would lose it.

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He held the cloak as if he cradled all the life in Arda in his arms. The warm, soft fabric felt impossibly heavy and cold to his touch. But even through the lifeless cloak, he imagined that he could still feel the light that had radiated from the body it had kept warm until so recently.

He was too late. He had failed. Failed to protect her. Failed to keep her safe. Failed in all that mattered.

But he could still offer her something. He could still love her. He could still give her hope, even through the dark times that lay ahead.

A light sparked in his eyes. Hope. _Estel_. Truly, Lord Elrond had chosen a fitting name. He had no hope left for himself. But he could give hope to his beloved.

The man stood swiftly, and followed the tracks of her attackers on newly winged feet, his heart pounding through his ribcage with every stride. He would not yet give up. As long as blood rushed through his veins as water rushed through a river, he would not give in to despair. He knew that she still lived. For if she did not live, the sun would not shine, the stars would not sparkle, the moon would not gleam. They would not, because their grief for the loss of her life would snuff their light as surely as her own light had been stolen from her eyes, from her very soul.

She still lived, and if there was any reason at all for him to continue to breathe, he would find Arwen.

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**A/N: **In case the man's identity is unclear, our hopeless tracker is Aragorn. I tried to fit his name in, other than the cryptic line about hope, but it just didn't work. Names will certainly not be avoided in future chapters, though, so have no fear.

Please read and review.


	2. Of Fires and Orcs

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of this. I am making no money from this story. All recognizable events, places, scenarios, concepts, items, and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and possibly New Line Cinema.

**A/N:** So, I just saw the sixth Harry Potter movie in theaters yesterday, and I was afraid that it would steal my muse and I would start writing HP fanfiction instead of Lord of the Rings, which would _not _be good, because I'm in the middle of seven different LOTR stories at the moment, and I'm not very good at reviving my work after abandoning it for too long. Luckily, that didn't happen, and my muse is still intact and thriving - at least for now.

Cheers, and don't forget to review!

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The crunch of twigs and deadened leaves underfoot was one of the only sounds that came to Aragorn's ears, accompanied by his own harsh breathing and beating heart. He straightened from examining the trail, and quickened his pace. After several hours of tracking Arwen's captors, he was drawing close. The tracks were fresh.

He broke into a run, taking care to soften his steps and avoid placing his full weight upon any one foot. Now that he was almost within earshot of the procession, he did not want to make a wrong move and become another captive. He knew he would do Arwen no good in that situation.

Aragorn ducked beneath a low branch, slowing to a walk as the smell of smoke assailed his nose. They must have made camp. Cautiously, he peered around the thick trunk of a tree, and suppressed a sound of revulsion at the sight that greeted his eyes. _Aye, they have made camp, but soon there will be a second fire, and this one is not for cooking. _He thought in disgust, surveying the scene before him.

The Orcs must have had a skirmish with one of their own, who was now trussed up and standing shakily upon a pile of sticks, his hands bound around a single upright branch. He appeared hardly able to stand, indeed the Ranger suspected that, were it not for the support the branch gave the creature, he would be lying in a crumpled heap. He shook his head, reminding himself that he was not here to study the Orkish culture.

Aragorn scanned the rest of the clearing, spotting Arwen without difficulty, so out of place she seemed among the Orcs. He narrowed his eyes, examining her body for visible injuries, of which, thankfully, Arwen seemed free. He turned his attention briefly back to the creatures as the familiar sounds of the Common Speech reached his ears.

"Ah, fresh meat. It has been too long since we had fresh meat."

"Why can we not cook the prisoner along with the traitor? Elf-meat is a rare treat."

"Fool! The Master's orders were to capture the elf and bring her to him, alive and undamaged."

Aragorn's breath caught as his mind registered the significance of the Orc leader's words. _Master._ The creatures were not rogues, they served someone, mostly likely Saruman or Sauron.

"The elf causes trouble! She nearly escaped! We should not keep her."

"She only came near to succeeding because Meurig was not watching her." the leader shot the bound Orc a dark look at this statement. "But enough of this. I am hungry, and we have wasted enough time with this." He strode over to the smaller fire several yards from his previous post, and pulled a flaming branch from its midst.

"The Great Eye will not have to put up with _your_ presence when we reach Barad-Dûr, Meurig." he sneered at his future lunch, throwing the branch upon the mound of fuel. The Ranger started, registering the creature's words. Their master was _Sauron_. He could not restrain a shudder at that revelation, knowing that if he did not release Arwen soon, she would be brutally tortured by the servants of the Dark Lord. As the flames spread from branch to twig, from twig to leaf, the observing Orcs cheered, delighted by the helplessness of their victim. And, Aragorn realized, distracted. This was the perfect time to free Arwen and escape.

Carefully, he slipped among the trees, making his way as swiftly as he dared toward his love. Just before he reached her, he sent a silent plea to the Valar that his plan would succeed, and he would be able to protect her from harm. Aragorn stepped behind the tree Arwen was bound to, whispering a greeting under his breath in Sindarin so she would not be caught unawares.

Arwen had obviously heard his words, because a soft gasp of "Estel!" answered him before he cut through her bonds with his hunting knife.

"Are you injured? Are your feet bound as well?" he breathed, watching the Orcs warily as they waited impatiently around their barbecuing kinsman.

"I am not injured, and no." she responded quietly, although she contradicted her words almost immediately when the blood rushed back into her numbed fingers. A loud cry escaped her lips. One of the Orcs nearest to the pair turned suspiciously, and at first simply blinked dumbly at his prisoner, who was obviously escaping. Aragorn used the precious seconds to pull the _elleth _to her feet, but the creature came to his senses before they had made it more than a few yards.

"The prisoner is escaping! The prisoner is escaping!" he howled, lunging at the offenders.

Aragorn swore loudly in Sindarin, and handed his knife to Arwen before drawing his own sword. The group of advancing enemies was much too large for only two to even dream of besting, but he still had a chance of escape if he could lose them in the trees. In his half-century of life, he had lived through enough battles to know when to fight, and when it was better to run.

He placed his back against that of Elrond's daughter, fending off the Orc that attempted to run a rusted blade through his heart. Looking back to see how Arwen fared, he was pleased to note that the oncoming Orcs had to step over (or onto, in most cases) the bodies of their fellows. It was clear that Elrond had taught his daughter well in swordsmanship, and the resultant feat was most impressive, considering the diminutive length of her weapon in comparison to the blades of the enemy.

He was torn from his thoughts as a knife came dangerously close to his nose, and he slammed his left fist into the side of his assailant's face. Before he had even withdrawn his hand fully, a guttural voice called out in sudden glee.

"Barahir! He's wearing the Ring of Barahir! This is no ordinary human; he is the one the Master wants above all others!"

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**A/N: **Now that the plot has (hopefully) been made clear to you, I should probably explain my reasons for writing this. I feel that Arwen needs to build some character before she gets to be queen, just like Aragorn had to go through countless trials in order to become king, and what better way to accomplish that than be captured? ;) I feel like, in both the books and the movies, Arwen's a little...eh, _flat. _I didn't have to wrack my brains long to come up with a few ideas on how to round her out. I mean, all we really know about Arwen in canon is that she's apparently spent pretty much all of her life in Imladris and Lothlórien, especially after her mother was captured and eventually sailed to Valinor. She's been sheltered. Celebrían played a large part in deciding which of my ideas to go with in the end; I thought being captured by the same race (and perhaps some of the descendants of the very Orcs who tortured her mother) would have some interesting emotional effects on Arwen.

Aragorn is there because I'm not quite cruel enough to hand her over to Sauron without some sort of support, and because, frankly, couples can be used against each other in torture. **This story doesn't have an 'M' rating because the **_**majority**_** of the torture will be emotional and mental, not physical. **That said, I don't intend to let them laze about in Barad-Dûr on silk sheets and luxury mattresses.

I'm not sure when the next update will be, because I literally won't have _any_ time to write the next couple days, and I'm having surgery in less than a week. I don't trust myself enough to try and write seriously while on painkillers, so we'll see what happens.

Please read and review, folks!


	3. Of Bad Escape Attempts and Capture

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of this. I am making no money from this story. All recognizable events, places, scenarios, concepts, items, and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and possibly New Line Cinema.

**A/N: **I decided to get one more chapter out there before my surgery tomorrow, because in all likelihood the next installment won't be even started for at least a week.

I apologize for the terrible excuses for fight scenes, both in this chapter and the last one. I'm terrible at writing them, so I tend to just skip over them (__ parried, __ stabbed, __ killed this Orc, __ died a terrible and agonizing death in order to prevent Larki from writing any more about the battle and diminishing his excellent swordsmanship to a few repetitive terms). It's a very unfortunate failing, considering the fact that almost all of the significant characters in Lord of The Rings are or were warriors, or have some experience with the blade. I intend to look through my copies of the trilogy again while I'm too drugged up to write, in the hopes of taking a leaf or three out of Tolkien's book. Hopefully, any fighting that crops up in later chapters will be slightly less disgraceful.

Thanks to MusicalROMANCE for the review of the last chapter. :)

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Aragorn froze for a split second, cursing himself silently as the eyes of every enemy in the clearing fixed upon his left hand. The black and silver ring glimmered cheerfully on his index finger, blissfully unaware of the doom it had just secured its wearer. The man lashed out with his sword at the Orc who had called attention to the heirloom and noted the reactions of the surrounding Orcs.

Many of the creatures were elated, and stared at Aragorn with the air of a starving hobbit who had just glimpsed a royal feast. They appeared to have forgotten, just for a moment, that the newly revealed heir of Isildur was slaying their kin with ease, taking advantage of their distraction. Behind Aragorn, Arwen had stabbed the Orcs within her reach, reluctant to move far from her place lest she leave both their backs unguarded.

Suddenly, all the Orcs in the clearing sprang to action as one, catching both elf and man offguard. The group converged upon the pair, surrounding them in an ever-tightening circle.

Aragorn glanced at Arwen, and an unspoken agreement passed between them. They could not possibly run now, but they could still escape once they had been captured. They still had a chance. They still had hope.

Neither of them was ready to stop fighting, though. The more Orcs that were slain, the less they had to avoid when they made their escape attempt. Aragorn lunged forward with renewed vigor, beheading the savage-eyed creature who had approached him. He turned swiftly, blocking a well-aimed blow to his head, and thrusted his own sword along the length of the rusted saber, using the momentum to drive his blade firmly into the eye of the Orc.

As he pulled his sword out of the creature, his attention was diverted by a soft cry of dismay. Arwen's knife had been knocked out her grasp, and it lay half-buried in the leaves - far out of arm's reach. One of the Orcs stepped on it, driving it further into the ground. The creature ground its foot gleefully upon the blade, muddying its distinctive jeweled design. The Orc roughly tied the elf's hands behind her back, and as it did so, Aragorn noticed belatedly that his own sword now lay on the ground, where he must have dropped it while the Orc approached Arwen. His own hands were also nearing the end of their free life, because a smaller creature approached the man, a length of moldy rope wound tightly between his grimy fingers.

Aragorn allowed his shoulders to slump, portaying a picture of defeat that allowed the Orcs to grow confident, believing that their prisoner had given up.

"The Master's going to be pleased with us. We have captured the elf, and now we have captured the Heir of Isildur. He will reward us richly when we reach the gates of Mordor."

A tall Orc that appeared to be the leader approached the pair of captives, hauling them both toward the same tree that Arwen had been tied to when Aragorn had first seen her. Before the rescue attempt went awry.

Aragorn grimaced in pain as his head connected painfully against the trunk of the tree.

"We set out in an hour's time. I want to deliver them to the Master quickly."

Arwen's worried blue eyes sought out Aragorn's blue, clearly asking what they should do.

_"Elvë pusta sinomë." _he breathed, just barely within her hearing.

She nodded resignedly, and leaned against the tree to rest for a while until they had to travel again.

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_Elvë pusta sinomë _- We wait. Literally, 'we stay here.'

**A/N: **Please read and review, I'd love to know what everyone thinks of this story so far.


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